I drove a school bus, 1998-2003. I had the "bad" kids, who went to the "bad kid" school. Justin was one of them.

Justin was 6, a kindergartener with freckles and a mop of red hair. The first day I picked him up, he was wearing overalls and a striped shirt, like Chucky. I never found out what he had done to get sent to that place at age 6.

Every morning, I would pull up and set my red lights/stop sign, make sure traffic had stopped, then motion for him to cross. He had to cross the opposite lane and walk in front of the bus.

One morning, same routine, traffic is stopped, and Justin started across. I don't know why, but that morning he stopped on the yellow line, turned, and waved to his mom. He continued to the bus, and just as he got to my right front corner a silver pickup with a ladder rack passed my bus on the shoulder. It went past so fast I barely saw it, then it disappeared around a bend.

Justin slowly walked around the corner of the bus and climbed the steps, face pale and eyes huge.

I asked him, "You OK, bud? "

He slowly nodded, then continued to his seat. He was unusually quiet for the drive to school.

That little guy was barely the height of my (mini bus) hood. If he hadn't stopped, he would have rounded the corner just as that truck passed my doors. That was 24 years ago, and Justin is 30 now, but I can still see the shock on his face from that close call.